


Thank God for the Nonnatuns.

by kfloser



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Gen, Season 6 Spoilers, Spoilers, just some women supportin' women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kfloser/pseuds/kfloser
Summary: Delia's having a rough time after Patsy departs, but you can always rely on the Nonnatuns.





	1. Chapter 1

Dawn broke, and the ringing of the alarm clock in Delia’s ears meant absolutely nothing to the girl. Usually, she’d be bolt upright, ready to start the day. Instead, she sniffed, and shut her sore eyes, her cheeks stiffened by the tear stains. She simply buried her head further into the pillow, wishing she’d not wasted all her sobs during the night, because now all that left her mouth were choking noises - as if her own sadness was strangling her, siphoning every breath she had. 

The moment the crying stopped, Phyllis walked in, a sad smile capturing her lips. “I’ve phoned the London, and told them you’ll be absent today. No arguments, Nurse Busby.” Nobody argued with Phyllis Crane - nobody dared to, and Delia didn’t have the energy anyway - her energy was wasted on the tears that dampened her pillow. “She won’t be gone forever,” Nurse Crane stood at the foot of the bed, her head cocked to the right slightly, and a comforting glimmer in her eyes. Delia stared at the wall across from her, and hoarsely mumbled the words “She’s already been gone too long.”  
”I know, kid,” Phyllis tried to put herself in Delia’s shoes, and realised how much her heart would hurt if she were in the situation. She wanted to help as much as possible. “She’ll come back, and nothing will have changed. Now, come on. Breakfast, a hot bath, and we can discuss Spanish lessons.” Shakily, the Welsh girl stood - all her limbs felt like jelly, and her eyes were bleary from both tears & tiredness. 

Delia stared at her reflection, the bags under her eyes gave away her night activities. She dabbed her skin with a cold flannel, hoping the red blotches on her cheeks and nose would go away. Once she’d made herself look slightly presentable, she walked downstairs. Barbara gave Delia a knowing look, but countered it with a smile. Delia sat in her usual seat, staring at the empty spot next to her. Fortunately, Sister Ursula was absent. Delia’s blue eyes refused to move off the empty spot, sticking to the chair like glue. “Come on now, you must eat.” Phyllis mumbled, and Delia snapped back to the people surrounding the table - each looking at her with sadness in their eyes. Delia couldn’t bare to make eye contact with any of them, but she forced a smile in the general direction of everyone, mumbling a quiet “Good morning”, just so she didn’t seem rude. After her words, she felt a hand touch hers underneath the table, for a fleeting moment, she looked to Nurse Crane, who nodded reassuringly. She surveyed the food on her plate. Delia knew her sorrow hadn’t gone unnoticed, and felt the abject need to cover it up. She chewed on a piece of toast, trying to seem interested in what Sister Winifred was talking about - something to do with the joys of teaching. Delia paid very little attention. Breakfast couldn’t pass soon enough. 

Delia walked down the corridor, it seemed a lot darker without Patsy’s radiant smile to light it up, or her red hair to illuminate the walls. She was just about to step into Patsy’s room, when she was cornered by Sister Monica Joan. “You are sad, child. Why?” She questioned, holding a book within her freckled hands. “One knows why, of course.” She continued, reaching a hand out to touch Delia’s arm. “Love always perseveres.” She mumbled, a knowing glint in her eyes, before she wandered off. Delia felt a lump form in her throat, quickly ushering herself into Patsy’s room, gently shutting the door behind her. The dark haired girl flopped down on Patsy’s bed, cuddling the pillow to her chest. As she whimpered into it, she’d never been so grateful for the fact Trixie wasn’t here. The fabric was soft, and smelled of sweet perfume - like the first waft of air when you walk into a confectioners shop. It seemed as if the longing would never end, and this was just the first day without Pats. 

More tears soaked the fabric, and Delia began to question if it would ever end, or get better. Patience. She needed to have patience - in both ways. She needed Patience, and she needed to have patience. But the misery made the hours go slower, and the days feel like weeks - it was as if the sun would never set. 

Delia awoke to see a clock that read 10 a.m., and a cup of warm tea left on the bedside table. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her hands shook as she grasped the cup, sipping it’s contents gratefully. Whenever she woke up from these crying fits, she’d always have a horrendously dry throat. The tea was heavily sweetened, and beside it rested a chocolate biscuit, and a note with some biblical quotes about love. The work of Sister Julienne. The corner of her mouth curved up, and for a moment, she was happy. She was grateful for a house full of women who cared for each other, who loved without judging. The sweetness of the chocolate was greatly welcomed after the bitterness of the morning so far. She grabbed the edge of Patsy’s blanket, and wiped under her eyes with the fabric, wiping up any stray tears.

Shouting - that’s all Delia heard. Yelling, from a familiar voice, in her tired haze, she couldn’t pinpoint who it was. She heard one last shout, before someone jogging up the stairs, and before she had time to make herself look presentable, the door was opened. “Oh, you poor girl.” Trixie dropped her bags as soon as she spotted Delia, and shut the door behind her. The blonde approached slowly, and perched on the bed next to Delia. Trixie was no stranger to heartbreak, and could see the evidence littered around - the wet patch on the pillow, the way there were no ruffles in the sheets - as if Delia had tried to keep the bed exactly the same, the same way Patsy would’ve left it. “I know how much you adored each other,” Trixie wrapped an arm around Delia’s shoulders, pulling the girl towards her. Delia had no objections, and simply let Trixie embrace her. It was nice - it made the numbness in her chest slightly worse. “She’ll be back - Patsy won’t leave you, she loves you too much. She’ll talk about you for hours, she’d never leave you.” Trixie mumbled the words. Usually, Delia would be more worried that Trixie knew, but she was just enjoying the comfort. Silence overtook the room for a while, and Trixie just hugged Delia. “Thank you,” Delia mumbled, feeling some of the sadness slip away. “You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart.” Trixie smiled down at the girl. “However, I do have to go and attend to that absolutely awful woman downstairs. She seems to think she runs the place. She’s wrong, of course.” Trixie placed a kiss on Delia’s head, and stood up, brushing off her clothes. A smile dragged itself across Delia’s lips. The Welshwoman was happy to see Trixie back, and eager to fight for what was right. Trixie smiled back, “Keep that right there,” she pointed to the grin on Delia’s own lips, before exiting swiftly, and with a goal clearly set in mind. 

Delia inched down the stairs, just enough to hear Trixie yell “THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN STRICT RULES AND EXPECTING US TO BE ROBOTS!” For someone so small, and dainty, Trixie’s voice boomed. The nun in question simply stared, taken aback. Delia let a smile capture her lips. Patsy would’ve clapped around about now, and stood firmly behind Trixie. The blonde's words rang out in her mind, “she’d never leave you”, as per usual, Trixie Franklin was right. Delia knew Patsy would never leave her. There’d probably be a letter through tomorrow. For now, though, she let the sadness slip over her again. Delia felt somebody beside her, just as the tears formed in her eyes again. Barbara sat down next to her, and withdrew a pink & white striped bag from her pocket. “I was never much good with words,” with a lopsided & apologetic smile, she handed Delia the bag of sweets. “You’ll be okay, eventually.” Barbara whispered the words, and with a fleeting hug, she was off down the stairs to stand strongly next to Trixie, her lips pursed and eyes as cold as ice. 

Delia made it to the landing, and then everything poured back - any happiness she’d felt seemed to dwindle. But this time, there wasn’t even tears to validate her sadness. It felt as if she’d left her body on the stairs, and was now just aimlessly wandering the halls - like Sister Monica Joan did, whenever a new crack appeared in her mind. She stared at the ground as she walked, unsure of which room to go to. She knew Patsy would be back, she knew Patsy loved her, and she knew she could wait. “It’s okay to feel the sadness. Of course, Nurse Mount will be back, but it’s okay to feel the sadness. She’s a dear friend to you,” Delia looked up to see the kind face of Sister Winifred in front of her own. “You’re allowed to feel sad, but just know, there are 6 people in this house who will look after you in the meantime.” Sister Winifred placed a hand on Delia’s shoulder, but quickly rushed off, in a feeble attempt to mediate the war downstairs. 

Dinner that night wasn’t such a miserable affair - Sister Ursula didn’t make an appearance, but the others showed Delia that even without her girlfriend, she could smile, and laugh. Trixie told stories of South Africa, and the others made witty remarks. The Turners made a brief appearance, to share the news of the baby - there was happiness in the air, and it seemed to infect Delia. She couldn’t shake the feeling of missing Patsy, but it was dimmed, all thanks to the residents of Nonnatus House. The blow was softened, simply because people seemed to care.


	2. Words Not Required.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words are always such slippery things - coherent sentences are always so hard when your mind is addled by joy.

With the help of (almost) all the women surrounding her, the weeks passed for Delia quite quickly. They never allowed her to be alone with her sadness - be it Trixie sitting with her until she fell asleep, or Sister Monica Joan requesting her assistance in the garden, she was never really alone. And the few moments she did spend alone, she wasn’t as blue as she’d been at first - there were very few tears shed, and very few tissues thrown into wastepaper bins. And she was grateful for that. Although every fibre of her being still missed Patsy - missed her groggy morning voice, and the way she’d sneak into Delia’s room in the early hours. She missed all of that, but she didn’t have to wallow alone. The Nonnatuns looked out for one another, even if they didn’t know the entire story. 

23 days without Patsy, almost a month. Delia was quite happily sat on the steps with Barbara, who was ranting about how utterly irritating it was that there were very few classes that taught languages she actually wanted to learn. Delia was in that awkward state - where you find yourself listening, but the words are just passing through your ears, like water down a guttering pipe. Delia nodded along, despite the fact she was paying very little attention. “I just think we should be better equipped to help the people who need it most,” Nurse Gilbert ended her segment, sounding rather breathless. She turned to face Delia, who was simply staring off into space, looking as if her soul was somewhere else. “Delia?” Barbara implored, tilting her head to the left. Delia bolted into action, sitting upright and folding her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, I was off with the fairies. I do agree, though. Knowing more languages than English would be helpful,” Delia nodded, and smiled to Barbara, who gave her a reproachful half smile in return. 

As soon as the telephone rang, Barbara darted off, knowing she was first on call. Trixie then replaced her position. “How’re you holding up?” She asked. Trixie had one of the sweetest voices Delia had ever heard - she believed that’s what made the girl so scary when she was encased in a bubble of rage. Trixie had a voice built for mumbling soft words to sad people, but she used it to fight for what she wanted, and Delia thought that rather admirable. “I’m okay,” Delia’s lips curved into a small smile. The Welshwoman was okay, truly.  
”If it’s any consolation, I miss her too. The room is quite empty without her, it’s rather odd. No more waking up to find her brushing the dust off the dresser for the 4th time that week.” Trixie threw her arm over Delia’s shoulders, “We’ll get by, though! Hopefully we’re not too awful in comparison to Nurse Mount,” Trixie’s usual radiant smile appeared, and Delia couldn’t help but grin too, and lean into the comforting woman. 

Delia waited on the steps until she saw the post arrive. “Good morning,” Delia greeted the man with a broad smile - she felt as if all her hopes and dreams were placed in his hands - all she loved placed in his hands. He nodded in response, and handed her a bundle of letters, all addressed to different people. She filtered through them carefully, her fingertips only grazing the tips of the paper, as if she was too scared to be rough with the paper - scared she’d tear it. Delia Busby, Nonnatus House, Poplar. Patsy’s handwriting perfectly represented her - it was neat, curved, and everything was in a straight line, despite it being blank paper. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to burst through her rib cage at any given time. Delia’s eyes were sore from staring at the same 4 words over and over. Carefully, she opened the seal. Patsy had sprayed some of her perfume in the enveloped - the honeyed scent wafted into Delia’s nostrils. If Delia could only smell one scent for the rest of her days, she was certain it would be that perfume. Delia paid attention to the letter inside, her eyes reading each word so slowly and carefully, like she was scared the words would disappear as soon as she read them - worried the ink would fade from the page. 

 

_“Delia,_

_Dad’s gone. He passed away two nights ago. Don’t worry, darling. I’m fine. I hope you’re okay, I have faith in the others. I know they’ll look after you, or they’ll face the wrath of Patience Mount. I hope Sister Ursula’s gone, the cad. “Biscuits for fainters only.” Gosh. I miss you, quite a lot, Busby. I miss your tolerance of my horrible moods, and I miss the way you’d fall asleep on my chest. Hopefully this letter doesn’t arrive too late, but I’ll be back soon. Very soon, and upon arrival I’ll see to that wretched nun, and then we’ll go out, we’ll dance, and it’ll be like I never left._

_All the love I have,  
Patsy." _

Delia let a few tears swell in her eyes. At the same time the water pooled in her eyes, her cheeks turned bright red, and a smile captured her lips. “Everything okay?” She heard the familiar voice of Nonnatus House’s most loved brick, Phyllis Crane. Delia nodded, the tears spilling from her eyes. “You’re crying, but you’re smiling. Good news, I trust?” Nurse Crane questioned further, removing the burgundy hat from her head, and placing it on the wall next to her. Once again, Delia nodded, with a smile so large it made her cheeks hurt counteracting the tears that fell from her eyes. “Patsy’s coming back,” her voice was altered by the lump in her throat, which made her joy sound more like sadness. Nurse Crane’s own lips formed a rather large grin, and she placed her hand on Delia’s shoulder. “I told you she’d be back, kid! I’m happy for you girls,” after those gentle words, she grabbed her hat, and headed indoors. Delia scanned the letter for a date, but to no avail. 

After tripping up the stairs, and bashing her shin, Delia finally made it to her room. Her shin throbbed with the threat of an oncoming bruise, but she didn’t care. However, once she was planted on the chair, and her writing tools were out, all words escaped her mind. This had never happened before, she’d always had the words in her mind whenever she picked up the pen, always poised to scrawl down every feeling that passed through her veins. Now, all the words she’d ever known seemed to leave her, blown away with the joy of Patsy returning. She leaned back in her chair, and ran a hand over her hair. Delia checked the clock on her bedside table, and turned back to the paper. 3 hours until the Post Office shut. More than enough time. 

The first word to adorn the paper was “Patsy”, and with Delia’s mind so overcome with joy, it seemed like the only word that’d end up inked onto the fibres. Sadness addles the brain, but nobody ever considers how much joy addles your thoughts. When you’re happy, you can’t think of anything but the reason for your joy. And that’s what Delia was struggling with. Absent-mindedly, she scribble the word “Patsy” over and over, until her wrist ached and she realized what she was doing. She scrunched up the piece of paper, tossing it into the wicker bin beside her desk, and writing Patsy’s name at the top, once again. She mentally scorned her inability to form coherent sentences, and jumped in her seat as someone knocked at her door. “Come in,” she called, shutting the lid of her writing desk.  
”Sorry to disturb you, Nurse Busby, but we were hoping you’d join us for lunch,” Sister Julienne smiled kindly, and with her hands folded behind her back. “It’s a rather celebratory lunch,” she continued, smiling wider when Delia nodded, and stood. Maybe the words would come to her downstairs, where the silence wasn’t boring into her ears. 

Delia followed downstairs, to see Fred carrying suitcases out of the door. “Sister Ursula is departing.” Sister Julienne spoke, seeming overjoyed at the prospect. Delia was overjoyed, too. It meant she could go out with Patsy as soon as she returned. Delia followed into the dining room, to see a magnificent spread. Pots full to the brim of hot stews, and plates of fairy cakes and muffins. She assumed her usual seat, and let the conversation of the others fill her ears. Maybe she was focusing too hard on what to say, and that’s why her usual abundance of vocabulary had dispersed? “Eat up, Nurse. You’ll need your strength,” Trixie whispered, with a suggestive wink, before tucking into her own lunch. The dark haired woman allowed a coy smile to slip onto her lips, followed by a slight rose red tinge on her cheeks. Delia served herself some of the rich smelling stew, and happily joined in the conversation about the rewards of nursing. 

Lunch took up 1 of the 3 hours Delia had left to write a letter, and send it off. “I’ll be requiring your assistance, child,” Sister Monica Joan spoke swiftly, before speeding off in the direction of the front door. Delia followed, hurriedly. “Sister, I’m not really sure you should be going out alone!” The Nurse’s pleas did nothing to slow the woman.  
”I am not alone, that is why you have joined me.” The nun didn’t even turn to speak, she just kept going. Sister Monica Joan turned, and Delia knew she had no hope of persuading the woman to go home. She shook her head, following behind until the nun reached a halt. Delia jogged behind her, until she eventually reached her side. Sister Monica Joan turned to Delia, and then gestured to the crate of dandelions. “I have spoken to your counterpart about these flowers, and I will say the same to you, child. A weed is just a flower that somebody has decided is in the wrong place,” Sister Monica Joan’s eyes bored into Delia’s, and she couldn’t help but smile. The nurse nodded, and bent down, picking up the crate, and following the nun back to the house. Sister Monica Joan had a way of telling people exactly what they needed to hear, but in the strangest manner. That was why, in some ways, she was the most valuable member of Nonnatus. Her wise words hid deep meanings. 

Delia felt obligated to help the sister plant the dandelions - much to Fred’s dismay. “The yellow is simply radiant,” the sister mused, before turning to Delia, nodding kindly, and walking off to occupy herself with another task. Delia checked the clock as soon as she got back inside, within the safe, non-judgemental walls of Nonnatus House. She had 45 minutes to craft the perfect letter. That wasn’t enough time, not for all the words that now sprang to mind when she thought of Patsy Mount. Time had given her the words she needed, but she had no idea how to place them down - how to make them make sense. It was hopeless. By the time she was once again seated at her desk, she’d just about given up. Delia wrote the words “I love you” on the page, and flopped down on her bed, trying to think of what else to write, and how to make all the doting words seem coherent and eligible. 

“Nurse Busby, I hardly think a nap is suitable at 5:25 p.m.,” Delia sprung up as soon as she heard the words, and blearily stared towards the doorway. Nurse Crane stood there, her arms folded across her chest. “Yes, sorry.” Delia apologised, rubbing her eyes. “Especially since you have a guest,” the elder woman continued, stepping aside to allow none other than Patience Mount to step into the room, with an ear-to-ear smile painted on her lips. “Hello, old thing,” Nurse Crane shut the door as soon as Patsy stepped in, and Delia’s mind and limbs were stilled. Patsy’s smile faded momentarily, a sight that pained Delia’s heart. “Hi,” she greeted in response, standing up. Patsy approached Delia slowly - her eyes were puffy and red, and all she wanted to do was lie in bed with the love of her life, and talk about absolutely nothing - she wanted to inhale the smell of Delia’s shampoo, and listen to the kitten-like noises she made when she slept. Patsy laid down on Delia’s bed, and Delia followed suit, burying her head into the crook of Patsy’s neck, and letting a dry sob leave her lips. “Don’t cry, it’s okay.” Patsy’s own voice cracked as she spoke, and she just pulled Delia in as tightly as she could, and allowed the silence to overtake the room. It was a blissful silence - words weren’t required, the actions spoke volumes for both of them. 


End file.
